


The Phantom of Faber

by Leahelisabeth (fortheloveofcamelot)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Phantom of the Opera Fusion, Jack Zimmermann Doesn't Play Hockey, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22732678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortheloveofcamelot/pseuds/Leahelisabeth
Summary: Bitty wasn’t sure when he first noticed it.  Maybe it was a creeping sensation up his spine, a chill not related to the cold of the rink, a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye.  Whatever it was, he could never quite put it into words.Bitty makes friends with the ghost in the hockey rink.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 7
Kudos: 99
Collections: Bitty's Valentines Collection





	The Phantom of Faber

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lincyclopedia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincyclopedia/gifts).



> This was written for the bittysvalentines challenge on Tumblr.

Bitty wasn’t sure when he first noticed it. Maybe it was a creeping sensation up his spine, a chill not related to the cold of the rink, a hint of movement out of the corner of his eye. Whatever it was, he could never quite put it into words. He wanted to at least tell Shitty about it. He was a good guy and had been so understanding when Bitty came out to him. But he couldn’t bear the thought that Shitty would think he was crazy. So he kept his mouth closed, ignored what his gut was telling him, and kept going to practices like nothing had changed. 

It was the muffin incident that convinced him. He had quickly gotten into the habit of breaking out his figure skates for early morning workouts. He would get up early, reminiscent of his days in figure skating when he would meet Katya on the ice long before the sun crowned over the horizon. He loved to be the first to make his mark on the fresh ice, hearing his skate blades bite deep into the cold, hard surface, feeling the wind in his face as he got up to speed, and inhaling that smell that was unique to Faber. It helped to remind him why he loved skating, why he was here and still trying even though he couldn’t take a check.

Then he would sit on the bench, skates dangling, and enjoy some of his leftover baking and some sliced fruit for a post-workout breakfast in the solitude of the rink.

One morning, perhaps a month after he had first begun this routine, he packed an extra muffin. He had a meeting after his first class and wasn’t going to be able to take his usual snack break so he wanted the extra calories to tide him over until lunch. He pulled the paper bag out of his locker to find there was only one muffin. He would have written the incident off as him being scatterbrained, but he swore he had double-checked the bag and there had been two muffins in there before. He took a quick walk through the rink but he found no one.

After that, Bitty started to pay closer attention. He counted his fruit before he packed it and counted it again when he ate it and often found he was short a strawberry or two. The coffee level in his thermos wasn’t exactly where it had been before he got on the ice either. He remained vigilant, listening carefully for doors opening and closing, or footsteps, but he never saw or heard anyone.

“Have you ever heard anything about Faber being haunted?” he asked at one team dinner.

Ransom and Holster exchanged glances. “Not the rink, no,” Ransom said. “But did we tell you about Mandy and Jenny? They’re the Haus ghosts and I swear they’re the ones leaving bruises all over my ass.”

Holster scoffed. “I still say you’re making the whole thing up. If we had ghosts with an ass fetish, why the hell would they be going after you when they have this specimen of manhood to covet?” He stood and turned around, pushing his butt out toward the group and looking back over his shoulder like a pornstar or a female superhero.

This, of course, started a fight, and between pulling Ransom and Holster apart and threatening no more dessert if they didn’t behave, Bitty’s original question was forgotten.

Bitty didn’t try to start any more conversations but he started packing a bigger breakfast, a second bacon and egg sandwich, two giant chocolate chip cookies, sometimes even a slice of pie alongside his usual fruit. The first few times, his extra items weren’t taken, just the few bites of fruit. So Bitty left his leftovers in his locker and by the time he came back a couple of hours later for practice, the food was always gone. He still hadn’t caught a single real glimpse of whoever it was but he could feel the presence more clearly. He was certain someone was watching him skate now and once he managed to land a triple axel and he thought he heard light applause.

Bitty was doing pretty well faking it at practice. He was fast enough to avoid getting checked for the most part and so far he’d been lucky. But today was the day his luck ran out. Ransom and Holster had somehow managed to flank him and trap him against the boards and there was nothing for him to do but take the check.

He was not even sure if they reached him. He was already on the ground and he didn’t remember how he got there. Everyone was concerned, fluttering around him, trying to see if he was hurt. But Bitty didn’t even need to look at Hall and Murray to know they were disappointed. He wondered how long it would be now until they regretted giving him a scholarship and sent him home.

He stayed out in the rink after the teams hit the showers. He skated around a little, still jittery from adrenaline and fear, but soon he was shaking too hard to skate and he sat down on the player’s bench instead, hot tears welling up in his eyes and streaming uncontrollably down his cheeks.

“Are you okay?” a soft voice, one he didn’t recognize, asked behind him.

Bitty turned his head quickly around but didn’t see more than a shadowy figure cowering back into the darkness.

“Don’t look at me,” the voice pleaded. 

Bitty turned around to face the rink. “I’m sorry. I won’t. You don’t have to run away.”

“Are you okay?” the voice asked again, closer this time.

“I...I don’t know,” Bitty answered honestly, tears still threatening to fall.

“Euh, thank you...for the food. I don’t think I’ve ever had baking that tasted that good,” the voice said.

“I baked it myself,” Bitty said. “I was raised in the South so I don’t like anyone to go hungry on my watch.”

“It’s good,” the voice said. “Especially that one apple pie, with the maple? Reminds me of home.”

“You must be Canadian, eh?” Bitty teased. He was met with silence and when he finally turned around again, he was alone.

The next morning, Bitty brought an extra slice of pie. He hoped that he could apologize for frightening away his ghost.

He followed his regular routine, getting changed and going straight out onto the ice, leaving the pie in the locker room. He warmed up for a few minutes and was surprised when a figure wearing all black joined him on the ice. He was wearing an old, beat up goalie mask that had definitely seen better days and obscured most of his face. He hunched one shoulder awkwardly, like he had hurt it and it had never healed properly, but his skates were sure and his strides were powerful and fluid, like he had spent his life on the ice.

Bitty tried not to stare too much but he couldn’t help catching a glimpse of blue, blue eyes beneath the mask.

“You skate?” he asked, delighted.

The man shrugged, keeping his face turned away from Bitty. “Not really, not anymore. But I know a little, maybe enough to help you get past your block about checking?”

“You’d really do that for me?” Bitty asked.

“It was really good pie.” The man looked Bitty in the face for just an instant, enough for Bitty to see kindness and sadness in equal measure in those eyes.

“I’m Eric...Bittle, but everyone here calls me Bitty,” Bitty said, holding out his hand for the man to shake.

“Bitty,” the man said, grasping Bitty’s hand and giving the impression of strength. “Call me Jack.”

Bitty’s routine changed again. He would meet Jack in the rink in the morning and would try not to faint as Jack gently checked him into the boards again and again, and then they would sit on the bench and enjoy breakfast together. Jack had to remove the mask to eat so they would sit back to back, talking and laughing but unable to look each other in the face. Out of all the physical touch he was experiencing now, from Shitty’s borderline risque cuddles, to Holster and Ransom’s whirlwind bearhugs, this was the touch he had begun to relish most, the warmth of Jack against his back, a safe haven from the chill of Faber.

It didn’t take long for Bitty to start pouring his heart out. He was quickly coming to think of Jack as one of his best friends. It did bother him that he hardly knew anything about Jack, but anytime he tried to ask questions or press for more, Jack would clam up completely and run away.

It was nearing the end of the season. Holster and Ransom had set Bitty up on another disastrous date and Bitty was regaling Jack with every awful detail. “And then his face turned this weird sickly green and I didn’t have time to even move before he was throwing up all over my shoes.”

“Haha, oh?” Jack said.

“Bless his heart, I think it was his first time drinking, for sure his first time going on a date with a boy. I don’t know why Ransom thought we would be so perfect for each other. That boy clearly has not had time yet to come to terms with his own sexuality. Maybe we could be friends, but that’s not what I’m looking for right now,” Bitty said.

Jack tensed behind him. His voice was deceptively casual when he spoke again. “What are you looking for?”

Bitty was thrown off by the question. “I guess, someone taller than me, nice ass, strong enough to throw me around.”

“And that’s all that matters, someone who can manhandle you?” Jack chirped.

“Well no...but…” Bitty took a deep breath. “Someone easy to talk to, to laugh with, someone who knows all about me and likes me anyway. Blue...um...blue eyes.”

Jack leaned back, shoulders warm and solid at Bitty’s back. “I want...I want to tell you something.”

“Of course, Jack, you can tell me anything.” Bitty breathed deeply and reached a hand back to touch Jack’s arm. Jack moved and laced his fingers with Bitty’s.

“I used to play hockey,” he started. “Not just for fun. I was good, like NHL good, like first pick of the draft good.”

“I thought perhaps you were better than you let on,” Bitty said, reassuringly squeezing Jack’s hand.

“I also...um...have really bad anxiety. So the night before the draft, I’d been drinking, I was freaked out, and I decided to go driving. It was stupid. Things could have been so much worse. I could have hit someone. But instead, I wrapped my car around a tree and that was it: no more NHL, no more hockey, no more...anything,” Jack was nearly whispering by the end of it.

Tears stood in Bitty’s eyes. “I’m sorry that happened to you.” He wished he had something better to say.

“My shoulder never healed right,” Jack continued. “And my face...it’s not pretty.” He sat silent for a long moment, clutching Bitty’s hand desperately. “But I want you to see me.”

“You don’t have to,” Bitty said.

“I do,” Jack said, “because I’m falling in love with you and you need to know me.”

“Jack, I…” Bitty started.

“Don’t say anything, not until you see,” Jack said. He let go of Bitty’s hand and stood.

Bitty stood too and turned to face him.

The first thing he saw was Jack’s blue, blue eyes, staring back at him. The left side of his face was normal, strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, a hint of many stubble, but the right side was scarred beyond repair, cheekbone and jaw crooked after being set improperly, skin swollen and melted like candle wax from healed burns. After a moment, Jack turned away, hiding his face once more.

Bitty raised a hand. “Can I?” he asked softly.

Jack looked back at him and nodded.

Bitty traced the scars with one gentle fingertip. Jack closed his eyes and leaned into Bitty’s hand.

“I’ll go,” Jack said. “I just wanted you to know why.”

“No,” Bitty said, sharper than he meant to.

Jack looked at him with hope in his eyes.

“Sweetpea,” Bitty said. “I’m falling in love with you too.”


End file.
